Coma
by SmarticleParticle
Summary: The Task Force's plan to fake Matsuda's death goes horribly wrong and he actually dies. Or does he? Why has he woken up in a strange, freezing room? And why can he smell vodka...? Title will probably change. Possible RussiaxMatsuda in future chapters.
1. Dying?

**Disclaimer: Death Note belongs to the most confusingly-named yet epic manga duo ever, Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I do not own.**

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**Preface Thingy.**

"Here I go!" Matsuda cried. He tried to hide his fear as he leapt up onto the balcony ledge—he was supposed to be dead drunk, after all. The young detective gulped. Why did he have to think that? If he screwed this up, he would be dead. _Actually_ dead. That was a possibility Matsuda couldn't bear to think about, so he didn't.

Instead, he took a few steps forward, arms outstretched, looking everywhere except down at the busy street below and certainly not thinking about what would happen to him down there if he fell. Luckily, Matsuda had had a lot of practice at not thinking about things, so he was quite good at it.

He was vaguely aware of a few of the Yotsuba group members running outside and yelling at him to get down. The others remained inside at the party, drinking alcohol and flirting with Misa's hot friends, apparently unaware of the predicament 'Taro Matsui' was in. Despite the fact that he was _definitely not _about to plummet to his death, Matsuda had been glad he at least got to go to a decent party before he _didn't_ die.

"Don't worry, I do this all the time!" he reassured the two Yotsuba members who actually cared, making sure his voice stayed at a drunken slur. He wished he was as confident as he sounded. The breeze ruffled his scruffy hair and he didn't think about how high up he was.

"Here I go!" Matsuda cried, gracefully going into a handstand. Now he had no choice but to look down. He bit his lip; he was a little too far to the right. If he fell now, he would probably miss the mattress Soichiro was holding out on the floor below, and he was left with no choice but to awkwardly shuffle his hands along the ledge. He'd never been much of a gymnast, so this required all of his concentration—

"Hey, get down from there!" yelled a Yotsuba member who had just realised that their host was doing handstands on the balcony. The man charged towards Matsuda, who looked up and immediately wished he hadn't.

In that instant, several things happened at once. Matsuda's right hand slipped and he plummeted over the edge of the balcony. As he hurtled past Soichiro's outstretched mattress, he thought he heard the older man yell out his name, but it could have just been the wind whistling in his ears.

Matsuda just had time to scream before he felt his body connect with the road and the world went black.

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**A/N: Sorry this is so short, but like I said, it's only a preface. The real action starts next chapter. :D I've got this story pretty much planned out, but I'm still not sure if I'm going to include a bit of romance in there. What do you guys think? If anyone is reading this at all. I was surprised by how few Death Note/Hetalia crossovers there were on this site. :/ Anyway, I'm rambling AGAIN. I really need to find some friends. :S See you all next time!**

**x~SmarticleParticle~x**


	2. Not Dead

**Disclaimer: Death Note and Hetalia do not belong to me. If they did, this wouldn't be fanfiction.**

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For an immeasurable amount of time, Matsuda felt as though he was suspended in limbo between the worlds of the living and the dead. Memories would swim towards him through the blackness, but would dissipate before he could reach out for them. Voices from his past would hurtle towards him, their words describing his life, hopes and fears.

_You'll make a great detective, Touta._

_Will you be my Valentine, Misaki?_

_Welcome to the NPA, Mr. Matsuda._

_One day she'll love me._

_I am L._

_You're a wizard, Matsuda._

_Matsuda, you idiot!_

_I want to help too! I want to contribute to the case!_

He smiled at the memories. If he was dying and this was his life flashing before his eyes, he wanted to savour every bit of it, as dull as it may have been.

Then, without warning, the voices and almost-images stopped. The feeling of nothingness drained away to be replaced by a searing pain throughout his body. Matsuda no longer felt half-dead. In fact, he was sure he was very much alive.

He tried to confirm this by opening his eyes. Sure enough, he found himself staring up at a plain white ceiling. A strange, strong smell made him wrinkle his nose.

_I must be in a hospital_, he decided. _I somehow survived the fall, but got knocked unconscious and I've just woken up. That weird smell is some kind of antiseptic. Any minute now, Aizawa is going to come in and start yelling at me for screwing up and everything will go back to normal. _

Despite knowing this theory was about as good as his policing abilities and would certainly earn L's disapproval, Matsuda decided to just keep staring at the ceiling and believe it for as long as possible. He knew there were some major flaws in his idea; there was no way he could have survived that fall without major injuries, and no _way_ that smell was antiseptic. However, he did vaguely recognise it. It reminded him of the time Ide had made him try some kind of alcohol, except he had got completely pissed after only two shots so there wasn't a lot to remember.

Matsuda changed his mind and decided that, for once in his life, he would try to be logical and provocative. No, wait. He furrowed his brow. That didn't sound right—perhaps he meant proactive.

Anyway, Matsuda decided that the first step in being logical and proactive/provocative would be to find out exactly where the hell he was. Doing that would involve tearing his eyes away from the ceiling and fully abandoning the hope that he was in a safe, clean, familiar place.

He gritted his teeth and did just that. Matsuda tensed up, fully expecting to come face-to-face with some monstrosity like Pennywise the clown or Freddy Krueger, or perhaps his old maths teacher.

Needless to say, he didn't.

In fact, the room Matsuda found himself to be lying in was quite unremarkable. It was neat enough, but had an unlived-in feel about it, as if it were a guest room but the owner had no friends to come and stay in it. There was a desk and a chair, a wardrobe, and an oil painting of a vase of sunflowers hung on the plain white wall. Matsuda realised he was lying on a neatly-made bed, and the curtains were shut so that yellowish sunlight streamed through and bathed his nearly-naked body in a golden glow.

_What_.

He looked down and saw with horror that he was wearing nothing except his boxers, though his legs and torso were covered in various bandages and strappings. He wiggled his toes and fingers experimentally. He was able to move, thankfully, but it hurt like hell. Still, he was quite relieved. He should have had several broken bones at least.

Wincing at the twinge in his ribcage, Matsuda eased himself up into a sitting position. As he glanced around the room, he noticed that his clothes were neatly folded and draped over the back of the chair. He managed to get up and gingerly hobble over to them; most of the damage seemed to be above his waist, and his legs were relatively unhurt.

Matsuda had just finished pulling on his jeans and buttoning his shirt up when there was a soft knock at the door. After a second's pause, the door opened and a young man in a green military uniform entered the room. He started when he saw Matsuda was up.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "You're awake. I'm so sorry for just barging in like that, I didn't mean—"

"No, it's alright," Matsuda smiled. There was an awkward silence.

"Well, if you're up, then I'm g-going to go a-and tell my boss," said the man. Matsuda couldn't help noticing how a slight stammer had crept into his speech.

As he turned to leave, Matsuda stepped forward. "Wait a minute!" he exclaimed.

The man turned around. "What?"

Matsuda paused, a hundred questions jostling in his brain. Eventually, he settled on a feeble "what's your name?"

"I'm Toris," the young man replied, before scurrying off.

_Toris. That's a weird name,_ Matsuda thought as he sat back down on the bed. _There's no way he's Japanese. And what did he mean by his 'boss'?_

The sound of two sets of approaching footsteps snapped Matsuda out of his thoughts. One set was light and nervous—presumably Toris—but the other set... they sounded very heavy, not that that was unusual. However, Matsuda could have sworn that the temperature in the room had dropped by several degrees. He suddenly got the impression that he was in big, big trouble.

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**A/N: Hey! Sorry this update took longer than I thought it would. I'm just gonna stop telling people when I'll update because I never get it done in time. This chapter was slightly more serious than I thought it would be, so I'll try to make next chapter a bit more lighthearted. **

**x~SmarticleParticle~x**


	3. The Smell of Vodka

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note or Hetalia. **

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Matsuda felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He shivered as the footsteps drew nearer, and took a few steps away from the door. The detective really, really wished he had his gun on him right now.

The heavy wooden door opened, and Matsuda gulped as Toris and another man entered the room. Matsuda suddenly felt a rush of sympathy towards the shaking Toris, if this man was his boss.

To say that the man was tall would be an understatement. Not only did he tower over the other two, but he was broad-shouldered and sturdy-looking, a stark contrast to Matsuda's lean frame.

What the detective found most disconcerting, however, was the large man's plump face and childish smile—his expression gave him the appearance of a kid who had just been told that Christmas was coming early. Somehow, this added to the man's frightening aura, and Matsuda took another step backwards.

"Leave us, Toris," he commanded in a thick accent which Matsuda recognised but couldn't place.

Toris shot Matsuda a sympathetic glance before rushing off.

"Do not mind him," Toris's boss said, tilting his head to the side slightly. "He is afraid of his own shadow."

_I wonder why,_ Matsuda thought.

"My name is Ivan," he said, extending his hand.

"I'm Matsuda," said Matsuda, before realising his mistake. _Damn it,_ he cursed. _Should've used my alias._ He took Ivan's gloved hand and shook it uncertainly.

"I think you have a lot of questions, so please follow me," Ivan said as he gestured in front of him. Without checking to see if Matsuda was actually following him, he set off down the corridor outside Matsuda's room.

After a moment's hesitation, the smaller man went after him. Ivan didn't seem like the sort of person he should annoy.

Matsuda almost had to jog to keep up with Ivan's long strides, his ribs screaming. He didn't dare stop to catch his breath.

To distract himself from the pain, he gazed around at Ivan's home. There wasn't really much to see; it was big, but cold and empty. It appeared as though someone had tried to brighten the house up by hanging paintings of bright sunflowers on the walls, but it didn't make much difference. The place still felt unloved and plain.

Eventually, the two men reached a small living room. Matsuda followed Ivan inside and was immediately hit by the smell from earlier. It was much stronger inside the room, and Matsuda had to stop himself from gagging. Now he remembered what the smell was; it was very, very strong vodka.

Ivan motioned for him to sit down on one of the two armchairs next to a guttering fire. Matsuda obeyed, perching nervously on the edge of his chair. He watched as Ivan opened a cupboard and retrieved a glass bottle and two shot glasses, before filling them both and handing one to Matsuda. The younger man did a poor job of hiding his disgust as he drank half the shot.

"You don't like vodka?" Ivan questioned as he sat down in the other chair.

"Not really," Matsuda admitted.

Ivan sighed quietly. "I suppose it is an acquired taste," he said, sounding almost disappointed. He tipped his own glass back and downed the entire thing, before pouring himself another.

"So," the large man said, apparently unaffected by the amount of alcohol he had just ingested. "Who are you? Which country do you represent?" He stared intensely at Matsuda as he waited for an answer.

The detective noticed that Ivan's eyes were a deep shade of violet, before mentally smacking himself for noticing something like that when his life could very well be in danger. "I-I'm Japanese," he answered, unsure what Ivan meant.

The other man shook his head. "We already have a Japan. Where are you from?"

"Tokyo," Matsuda answered, hoping this was the right thing to say.

Ivan's face lit up in understanding. "So you are Tokyo and your name is Matsuda. Why did you not just say so?" He sat back in the armchair and lit a cigarette. "How did you end up so far from Japan? I am sure he is very worried about you." Ivan's mouth had curled up into an unsettling smile.

"I...fell?" Matsuda tried to ignore how Ivan had referred to his country as "he" and concentrated on remembering the details of his fall. How long would it have taken Misa-Misa to realise the whole thing had gone wrong? Had L already found a replacement for him?

"Yes, that is how it seemed when we found you," Ivan said, thoughtfully taking a drag on his cigarette. He glanced at Matsuda. "Do you smoke?"

"No, thank you," Matsuda answered quickly. He had always hated smoking, but on Ivan it looked almost...right.

"I have been wanting to stop for a while." Ivan sounded distant, as though he were talking half to Matsuda and half to himself. "But a lot of my population smoke, so I don't have much choice."

_His population?_ Matsuda thought. _This guy's mental. No way do I want to be stuck here with him. I _have_ to get back home._ He was just about to get up and excuse himself when Ivan spoke, apparently having remembered Matsuda was there.

"You should go and get some sleep, Tokyo. You'll heal faster if you do." His violet eyes had suddenly started to look weary.

"Um, OK. And my name's Matsuda. Not Tokyo." _Ivan is definitely crazy if he thinks I'm a city._

"Matsuda, then. I will be seeing you later, Matsuda," said Ivan, before staring off into the distance, seemingly lost in thought.

Matsuda shook his head in bewilderment, before silently getting up and leaving Ivan alone with his thoughts.

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**A/N: You may have noticed, I've changed my mind about the genre of his story. I've put it under hurt/comfort because I actually want this pairing to be taken seriously. Matsuda and Ivan just seem to fit together so well. *O* In case you're wondering about the cigarette thing, it's been my headcanon that Ivan smokes since I saw a fan picture of him doing it, and as 1/3 of the Russian population smokes it seems like he would too. ^_^**

**x~SmarticleParticle~x**


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